


A Ginger Man For Frodo

by Rakshi



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshi/pseuds/Rakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam makes a Christmas surprise for Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ginger Man For Frodo

The light from the kitchen at Bag End spilled softly out into the hallway casting a golden glow against the wooden panels. The kitchen walls were made of stone, and were lit by the cheerful glow cast by a large fireplace. The scene was peaceful and serene. And yet….

"Snakes and adders!" Sam muttered. "An how's a body supposed to make this dratted dough... " Then followed noises that could only vaguely be made out. There were growls and mumbles. There were cries of "Drat!" and "Noodles!" And finally, there was a wet smacking sound, as though someone was kneading bread dough.

It was quite odd for Sam to be puttering in the kitchen at this hour. It was also hard to fathom what sort of food would cause him to use words that were normally only used during his grumpiest humors. Sam was a marvelous cook and was totally at ease in the kitchen.

At the kitchen counter Sam WAS kneading dough... or trying to. It was an odd brown dough, and remnants of it clung to the cupboard, the counter top, Sam's shirt, a spoon, several baking utensils… in fact it clung to everything it had touched. He sighed and leaned back to stare at his hands, which were also thickly coated with the tan, sticky dough. "This here ginger man is harder to make than a REAL man."

He sighed in frustration and his thoughts turned to an afternoon earlier that month. Sam had just finished decorating the parlor for Yule, and Frodo had been leaning back in his favorite armchair, inhaling the wondrous scents that floated through all of Bag End.

Sam had outdone himself this Yule season, for it seemed that every mantel, archway, and table in the old Hobbit hole was framed in evergreen. Red ribbon and bows accented the green boughs, along with strands of cranberries, which carried their own sweet scent. Bowls of apples were set all 'round and would become gifts for the carolers who would soon be at their door. They came every year, singing Yule songs, carrying their wooden wassail bowls, and hoping for gifts of food and drink. It was a noble Hobbit tradition. Tall candles flickered, casting their light into the mirror, and around the room. Bag End both looked and smelled the very picture of Yuletide.

Sam had set a special log aside as their Yule log. It was decorated with ribbons, and Sam had rubbed aromatic spices onto it so that its sweet fragrance would be added to the rest of the glorious smells permeating Bag End. He would nurse the Yule log, and try to keep it burning slowly for six days, in accordance with Hobbit tradition.

Frodo loved the Yule season. He reveled in the sights, smells, and sounds of the season, remembering them fondly from his childhood at Brandy Hall. As he relaxed in his chair soaking it all in, Sam had wandered in and smiled at him.

"If you don't look every BIT the fine country gentlehobbit, all relaxin' in your chair that way." He leaned over Frodo, his scarf dangling down. "An' may your humble servant share a Yuletide kiss with the master of the house, Sir gentlehobbit?"

Frodo smiled in return and grabbed the scarf. He pulled it gently until Sam's lips were pressed to his then after a moment he released it and laughed. "I know a Hobbit with a cold nose!" He laid his hand on Sam's cheek. "Oh, my! And a cold face too! Come sit here with me, dearest Samwise and warm yourself by the fire. You've been so busy decorating and helping others get ready for Yule that you've hardly had a moment to enjoy how lovely our Bag End looks… and smells!"

Sam collapsed onto a pillow at Frodo's feet and stretched his hands toward the nearby fireplace. "Aye, it’s been a long week, an' no mistake. But if you're pleased, my Frodo, then it’s all been for the good."

"I'm more than pleased, Sam. I'm utterly delighted! Bag End looks like a holiday portrait, and smells even better. It brings to mind the Yuletides that I spent as a child at Brandy Hall. While not as fine as this, they were still wondrous in their own way. My mother used to make ginger men for all the children. I still remember how they tasted and smelled. When she baked, the whole hall was filled with the scent of ginger. Makes my mouth water to think of it." He looked down at Sam and took his hand. "It's one of my fondest memories of her." He smiled and gazed, into the fire, caught up in memory while Sam watched, his face alight with tenderness.

Later that evening, Frodo's story began to repeat in Sam's mind. And after mulling it over for a long time he made up his mind. 'That ginger man!' he thought. 'I'll bet I could get me the recipe, an' make it for him!' At that moment Sam's vow to create the ginger man as a gift for Frodo was born.

He asked several of the Hobbiton 'Gammers' about the making of ginger men, and had been directed to the widow Dimple Bulge, who lived down Bywater way. Her recipe for gingerbread men was rumored to be the finest in the four Farthings. Sam visited her at once and told her about his wish to make the ginger man for Frodo. She was delighted with his plan and happily wrote out her recipe for him on the back of an old envelope.

Now he had to gather his ingredients. He had little time and it was no small matter. Some of the spices and other necessary items had proven hard to come by. Sam had scoured the Shire, and sent as far away as Bree to gather the required makings. Some of them had been slow to arrive and at times Sam had despaired of ever being able to create his surprise for Frodo. Luck was with him, however, and at last he had assembled all the items he needed to create the ginger man dough.

But now, in his kitchen at the crack of dawn, Sam struggled mightily to get it under control. He knew he had the recipe right and he had mixed his precious ingredients with special care. But this dough! It stuck to everything! He couldn't roll it out or even form it with his hands.

"Ninnyhammers!" Sam spouted. "How's a person to handle this nasty stuff?" The concoction hung from his fingers, and every utensil was thick with it. He was barely able to clean it off the cupboard or the bowls. "Ginger man?" Sam muttered. "I can't even make a ginger lump from this sticky stuff!"

Absently, he stuck his finger into his mouth, and his eyes rolled in pleasure. "My stars! Sticky, nasty mess as it is, it still tastes like a small dollop of heaven! I must figure where I've gone amiss. I want my Frodo to have his ginger man surprise."

He glanced out the window, and smiled when he saw the sun peeping over the fields. He knew that widow Bulge rose early to milk her one cow, and he wanted to be there when she did so. He was determined to ask her what he could do to make this dough more manageable.

Quickly he cleaned up most of the mess, put it in a bowl, covered all with a towel, and sat it in the sink. As he stepped into the hall he glanced toward the bedroom where Frodo lay sleeping, wondering if he should leave him a note, and decided it might be a good idea.

He found paper in the study and wrote:

> _My dearest Frodo,_
> 
>  _Gone to Dimple Bulge's house for a moment or so. I shall make your tea and muffins when I get home. Don't mind the mess in the kitchen. I'll attend to it, my dear._
> 
>  _Your Sam._

He stuck the note on the archway that led to the kitchen, knowing that Frodo would see it there, and walked to the front hall to draw on his coat on and wrap a scarf around his neck. Then he dashed out the door and down the Bywater road toward Dimple's small farm.

As he tramped, Sam took a deep breath and smiled at his frosty exhale. The air in Hobbiton was quite cool and crisp. A few early-bird Hobbits were stirring, those that had need to get up and tend to children or animals at the dawning of the sun, but for the most part the town lay quiet. There was a bit of frost on the fields and trees, and Sam's feet slid on the chilly ground as he walked down the familiar path.

Mungo Knotwise of Bywater and his partner Todo Deepdelver waved at him as they chopped chunks of ice from one of the Bywater pools that ran from the Water. "Hey, Sam!" Mungo yelled. "Mighty early to be out on a winter's stroll, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is!" Sam replied. "I'm off to visit the widow Dimple Bulge!"

"Well, you ARE then?" Todo asked, in pretend shock. "Seems a young Hobbit's fancy turns to thoughts of larkin' about with a lady even when it's cold Winter instead of warm Spring!" He snickered and grinned at Sam.

"Mind your tongue, Todo Deepdelver!" Sam warned, glowering in his direction. "I'm visitin' to ask a question. No more."

"Oh, leave him be," Mungo said, with a touch of irritation. "He's right. Mind your tongue, AND your choppin'!" Todo was forever yammering to folks passing on the road instead of chopping his fair share of ice chunks.

The two Hobbits did a fine business in the winter months, chopping up chunks of ice, and storing them underground. They'd be packed in salt and flannel wrappings all Winter against the hot Summer months when they'd be needed.

Sam ignored the two 'Ice-keepers' and quickened his pace. In a matter of ten minutes or so he was turning up the path to widow Dimple Bulge's small house. He saw her at once, leading her cow to the side of the house where a small three-legged stool was waiting.

"Hullo, Sam!" she said, spotting him. "How'd your Mr. Frodo like his ginger man? C'mon now, Clara," she admonished the resistant cow. "No sense frettin'. You're going to be milked sure as that sun is a-risin', so don't be stompin' now." She patted the cow's flank as she seated herself on her three-legged stool.

Sam smiled and took the cow's head for Dimple. "I'll hold 'er for you while you milk, ma’am."

'An' aren't you just the fine young Hobbit," she said, smiling. "Your dear mother would be pleased with you. I'll take your help and thanks." Dimple began to milk the cow as Sam held it quiet, her plump Hobbit fingers nearly flying, and the pure white milk pouring steadily into a bucket sitting directly underneath Clara's udders.

"Thankee, ma’am. But about that ginger man," Sam said. "I can't do naught with that dough, ma’am. I'm a fair enough hand in the kitchen, if you take my meanin', but I'll be hanged if that dough hasn't beat me fair and square. Right sticky it is, ma’am. I can't do a thing with it! An' I did so want to do that ginger man for my Frodo."

Dimple leaned her head against Clara's warm flank and laughed heartily. "Why Sam, you young fool," she said, lifting her head and smiling at him. "I'd bet a wormy-apple you forgot to chill that dough. You can't do a thing with ginger dough without it being chilled near to freezin'." She looked up at Sam and stabbed at him with her index finger. "Run right home, stick that dough into a bowl, and sit it outside for a good long time. Let it chill right though. Then, it'll let you roll it out good 'n proper!"

"Chill the dough!" Sam murmured happily. To the best of his knowledge, that information had not been part of the recipe he'd carried from Dimple's house. Either she'd forgotten to tell him, or he'd neglected to write it down. In either case, a critical clue had been left out.

He stomped his feet against the cold and stroked Clara's muzzle as Dimple finished her milking chores. "Thank 'ee kindly, Mistress Dimple," he said. "I'll take Clara, here, to her shed for you. An, if you'll wait, ma’am, I'll carry yer bucket in for you."

"Ye’re welcome, Sam," she said, standing up and patting Clara's back as Sam led her off. "Happy I could help. Your Mr. Frodo's a right nice young gentlehobbit, and I hope your ginger man is to his liking."

Sam walked Clara to a small shed where she stayed in cold weather, and then returned to help Dimple carry her milk bucket into the house. As he bid her farewell, she reminded him, again, that his ginger dough needed to be chilled before it could be rolled. "Leave it outside for a good long spell," Dimple advised. "Let it get good 'n stiff!"

"Chill the dough," Sam muttered again as he walked back down the path, turning to wave goodbye to Dimple. "Chill the dough."

It was still early morning when Sam got home, and to his relief, Bag End was quiet. It seemed that Frodo was still abed. Thankful, he quickly put on water to boil for their morning tea., and then grabbed the bowl filled with sticky dough that still sat under a towel in the sink. The gingery scent filled Sam's nostrils and he looked at it with satisfaction as he set the bowl on a small, low bench that was right outside the back door.

Satisfied that he was finally on the right path with his ginger dough, he began to whip up a batch of his famous apple muffins for his and Frodo's breakfast. He had just put them into the oven and was clearing away his utensils when a sleepy-eyed Frodo wandered into the kitchen in his nightshirt, carrying Sam's note in his hand. "Good morning, dearest Sam," Frodo yawned in greeting. He waved the note. "Gone to widow Bulge's?"

Sam took the note from his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Aye. I had to dash there to ask her about… um.. about a recipe," he finished quickly. "Ready for tea? Muffins are in the oven. Be done in a minute."

"Yes," Frodo said, taking his seat at their kitchen table. "Tea would be lovely! And do I smell your wonderful apple muffins baking?" Sam's delighted grin at having their smell recognized was his answer.

"Oh, Samwise, you do spoil me!"

Sam leaned over Frodo's chair and stroked his dark curls. "It's my pleasure to spoil you, my dearest Hobbit."

"And you do. So well."

Sam walked back to the oven to check the muffins, while Frodo checked the honey pot to be sure it was filled. Seeing him, Sam smiled.

"Not to worry," he said. "I've filled that honey pot right full, knowin' how certain Hobbits like to drown their muffins and tea with sweet stuff."

Frodo laughed. "I do have a bit of a sweet tooth, and that's a fact. But I won't put more than a dab on your muffins. They're quite sweet enough without such help. Nothing I love more for breakfast than your good apple muffins."

"They should be 'bout ready," Sam said, peering into the oven. "Yes, nicely brown on top." After pulling the muffins from the oven, he tumbled them, still hot, into a small basket and sat the basket next to Frodo. "I'll pour tea, me dear, while you butter and honey these to your taste."

"Sam… " Frodo said slowly, his index finger pointing toward the kitchen window "What is Till Danderfluff's dog sniffing at? Have we something cooling outside?"

"ARRUUGGHH!" Sam yelled, dashing to the door and out to where his gingerdough bowl sat on the bench, in gravest danger. "Go away!" He roared, grabbing up the bowl mere inches from the dog's sniffing nose. "You shoo on out of here, and right now too!"

Sam set the bowl on a high shelf normally reserved for plants, and looked around searching for other dangers. "Got so a body can't even put a bowl of dough in his own garden," he muttered.

Frodo stared at him, wide-eyed, when he returned to the kitchen. "Goodness! What were you saving out there?"

Sam shook his head dismissively. "Oh, nothin'. Just something I'm trying to keep fresh." He quickly filled Frodo's cup. "Here's your tea, me dear. Just as you like it."

They had a long, leisurely breakfast as was their habit, chatting amiably as they ate warm muffins and drank their tea. Eventually Frodo rose and went into the bedroom to dress. He wondered absently what apparently secret item Sam was keeping fresh. He thought about asking again, then decided against it. The kitchen was Sam's domain.

Finally, dressed in warm clothes, he wandered back to the kitchen where Sam was at the sink washing dishes. "I'm off to market this morning, dearest Sam. You do remember that, don't you? I shan't be long. An hour or so at most."

With his shopping list in his hand, he walked to where Sam stood and turned him around to embrace him. "The muffins were incredibly good today, dearest Hobbit."

Sam smiled back. Without thinking, he cupped Frodo's face, his wet soapy fingers sliding up into the dark, curly locks. He drew Frodo in for a long, intimate kiss.

His voice dropped a bit when he eventually leaned back. "The muffins aren't the only thing that's incredibly good, my Frodo." Then, noticing the water on Frodo's face and hair, he grabbed a towel and patted his damp cheeks. "I'm sorry! I forgot my hands were wet. Thinkin' of something else, I was." He grinned mischievously.

"Forgot!" Frodo chided, turning from Sam and grabbing his scarf and coat from the hook by the door. "Well, I'll agree to that this time."

"Hurry back," Sam said. "And 'round lunchtime we'll walk to the Dragon for a game of darts and a chat!"

Frodo nodded, waved… and was gone.

The minute Frodo was out of sight, Sam dried his hands and dashed outside to check his ginger dough. He grabbed the bowl and pressed his fingers against the dough. "Seems chilled clear through," Sam said happily. “Maybe now I can roll it into something."

After clearing away the breakfast dishes and cleaning the kitchen thoroughly, Sam rekindled the fire in the oven, and prepared his counter. Frodo had been gone for some time now, and Sam wanted his next task to be done before he returned to Bag End. He pried the dough from the bowl and onto his flour-dusted countertop.

The moment he began to roll it out, he cheered. To his delight, it no longer stuck to his finger, the rolling pin, the spoon, the countertop or his bowl. It rolled out as flat and smooth as Sam could have wished. He grabbed a sharp knife, dipped it in flour as Dimple had instructed him, and began to carve out two ginger men.

The shapes were not perfect, but Sam was eventually satisfied with them. He eased them onto his cookie sheet, and popped them into the oven.

Though he tried not to peek too soon, barely a minute had gone by before Sam was at the oven door, checking on the ginger men. They seemed to be baking up nicely. And as Bag End began to fill with the wonderful odor of ginger, molasses… cloves and cinnamon, Sam began to dance on the kitchen floor. "He'll smell it!" he crowed. "He'll smell it from the market place!"

He grabbed his broom to sweep up the flour that had dusted his floor and danced again! He thought his heart would burst from happiness. Now he could give his Frodo a gift that would remind him happily of his mother, Primula. Sam knew better than anyone how much Frodo loved her, and how deeply he missed her, especially at Yule.

Fearful that the ginger men would be fully baked before Frodo returned to smell them in the oven, he dashed to the door at least ten times, hoping to see him walking home from market. "Where IS he," Sam fretted. "Standin' about natterin' with Azaelia Bolger at her candy booth, I'll warrant." He stood outside for a moment, stamping his feet and rubbing his arms with his hands to keep warm… whistling to see the frost of his breath in the cold morning air.

He heard Frodo before he saw him, and as he did Sam felt his heart warm with love. Frodo was singing a traveling song that they had sung together many, many times:

_Upon the hearth the fire is red,  
Beneath the roof there is a bed;  
But not yet weary are our feet,  
Still round the corner we may meet..  
(From Fellowship of the Ring: Chapter Three, Three is Company)_

  
He dashed back into Bag End, sniffing the air to be sure that the luscious smell of the ginger men still filled their Hobbit hole, then to the parlor window to watch Frodo's approach.

As Frodo came up the hill, still singing, he shifted his market bag to his other arm and quickened his pace. _'I'll be glad for the warmth of my own kitchen,'_ he thought. _'And another cup of Sam's good tea.'_

Frodo entered the front hall, shivering. "Sam!" he called. "I've come home. And I have treats!" He sat his market bag down to hang his scarf and coat then walked into the parlor, still talking. "Hullo, Sam. I saw Azaelia Bolger at her booth and got us the most marvelous…." His voice trailed off and he stopped dead in his tracks. "What do I smell? What _IS_ that, Sam? You weren't baking when I left!"

Sam took the market bag from Frodo's hands and Frodo surrendered it inattentively, barely seeming to notice. His head was up and he was still sniffing the air. "What a glorious smell!" The smells that wafted into Frodo's nose were some of the most wondrous he'd ever sniffed. The scent of cinnamon and ginger, and perhaps a touch of nutmeg saturated the air, and Frodo's mouth watered. He walked a step forward, stumbling, not looking where he was going.

Sam grabbed his arm, but again, Frodo barely seemed to notice. "Sam! What IS that? Oh my, but it's wonderful!" He walked toward the kitchen with Sam following close behind.

"It smells like…" Frodo stopped as he reached the kitchen door. "It smells like…" He turned to Sam, his face alight with dawning recognition. "It smells like my mother's ginger men," he said slowly. "Sam!" He cried, grasping Sam's arm. "Did you…"

Sam blushed. "I tried to make them, yes, my Frodo. 'Tis too soon to tell if I've made them right, since they're still bakin' in yon oven. But if your Baggins nose is any judge, I've done them a fair turn, if you take my meanin'."

Frodo wound his arms around Sam's neck and kissed him tenderly. His voice, when he spoke, was choked with tears. "There is no other Hobbit in Middle-earth who is as good-hearted as you, my beloved Samwise."

Sam's blush deepened and he held Frodo close to him. This was what Sam had wanted and hoped for. That Frodo would recognize the sweet scent of the ginger men, and know that his Sam had worked this small Yule miracle just for him. He kissed Frodo's cheek tenderly. "Let's give um' a look, me dear one. See if they've browned up nicely."

They walked to the oven, and Sam opened it slowly, peeking in with Frodo right beside him. "Do they look like they're supposed to look?" he asked.

"They look good! And just brown enough. I think they're done, Sam!"

Sam pulled the cookie sheet from the oven and they both leaned over it, inhaling the scent of the ginger men.

"Oh, my, but that is a sweet smell!" Frodo exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

Sam looked at him, and his eyes shone with happiness. He'd seldom seen his Frodo so pleased. "They have to cool now, Frodo. And then we can ice them." He leaned over the cookie sheet and sniffed again. "They'll make a fine treat with a bit of mulled cider, don't you think?"

Frodo took Sam’s arm and pulled him close. When he spoke, his voice was trembling with emotion. “What I think is that I have the best friend that anyone in Middle-earth ever had. The dearest of Hobbits. The most wonderful gentlehobbit in all the Shire.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Sam’s, thinking yet again how blessed he was to have this good soul in his life.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam choked. “I’m not a gentlehobbit. Just a gardener who loves his master and wants to please him.”

He pressed his face to Frodo’s shoulder and held him close. For a few moments neither of them spoke. Indeed, neither of them was capable of speech. Then Sam kissed Frodo’s cheek and nodded toward the ginger men.

“I’ve saved bits of current and berry and some nuts for decoratin’ them, sweet Frodo. An’ we have some honey to use for frosting.” He turned back to Frodo. “If that’s to your likin’, my Frodo.”

Frodo kissed him again, tenderly. “Anything you want is to my liking, sweet Samwise."

“What I want, dear one, is a Happy Yule for the Shire, and my Frodo by my side as we celebrate.”

“You shall have that, my Samwise. For I shall be by your side at Yule for the rest of my days.”

They began to pore over Frodo's treats from market as the ginger men cooled. And later, they both joined in to decorate them with their bits of fruit.

When they sat, at last, before the fire in Bag End's study, drinking mulled cider and eating the ginger men, Frodo had never felt more contented in his life. _'What more could a Hobbit want?'_ he wondered. And idly running his fingers through Sam's hair, he answered his own question without hesitation: _'Nothing. There's nothing more in all of Middle-earth I could want. As long as I have him… I have everything.'_


End file.
